


Moth

by elephant_eyelash



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Fluff, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:12:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephant_eyelash/pseuds/elephant_eyelash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In between s2e7 and s2e8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth

The ride home was covered in brittle silence. Sybil sat in the back, her eyes turned to the cold night wind. Edith occassionally turned to glance at her, but she hadn’t moved. Anna huddled, silent, aware that this wasn’t really her battle. Mary looked at the odd figure of her sister, lain over the window like a tragic figure from a painting, half-sad for her. But mostly she was furious. She had said, she had said not to do anything stupid. And now her baby sister’s heart was broken and she risked ruin.

“There’s no point sulking, you know.” She said, and she could feel Edith tense beside her, and Sybil sparked.

“Oh be quiet, Mary.” She said, her voice rasping against the sound of the car.

And all at once Mary realised she wasn’t her darling baby any more. She wasn’t the girl who would watch rapt as she did her make up in the mirror, the girl who asked her about boys and what kissing felt like. She metamorphosised into something far uglier. Someone who would bare their teeth for what they wanted, someone who would fight bitterly against their world until her face was mangled and scratched. A moth that danced far too close to the flame.

Mary tried not to betray the shock in her voice. “There’s no need for that, Sybil.”

“I’m sick of all of you.” She whispered, and they all pretended not to hear.

///

This bed, these clothes, this life became all became so unfamiliar.

The duvet where she had spent her life dreaming itched furiously against her skin. The mattress contorted and jabbed into her body. The lamp that lay beside her bed became something she spotted absentmindedly in a shop window somewhere. Everything just tilted ever so slightly to the left of her vision and she knew that she had lost herself in him, and it was beautiful.

Mary came in, knowing Sybil would not be asleep. Sybil kept her back still turned, stubbornly refusing Mary the chance to see her eyes.

“It was for the best.” Mary started.

“Are you here to try and talk me out of it? Or to gloat?” She asked, Sybil’s voice throaty, weary.

“You don’t think me that heartless enough to gloat, darling, surely?” She said.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” She said, burying her head deeper into the pillow.

“Well…” Mary placed a hand on Sybil’s head. “Everything will get back to normal soon, I promise.”

Sybil shot up from where she sat. And in her face all Mary could see was ugly grief, a tragic young maiden crying against the storm, and she herself the wicked monster of the tale. 

“You don’t get it, do you? I love him.”

Mary tilted her head and gave Mary that older sister look, her pale fingers all the while twirling her black beads. “You have a crush. There is a difference.”

“…You think I’d risk everything for a crush?”

“No. But I think you’re young and you were taken in.”

And Sybil felt the truth dawn on her, heavy and cold. “Then you really don’t understand me at all.”

“Sybil, don’t—”

“No! I…” She swallowed hard, and looked inside of herself for the words, for some kind of poetry to try. But at the core it was so simple.. “I’ve loved him for so long…” She started to shake a little. “And you have absolutely no idea how much I tried to fight my feelings. None.”

Mary sat back a little, alarmed at the charge in her little sister’s voice, the intensity she saw in her last night blossoming all ugly and black and full in her eyes.

“And it was seeing your face at dinner that decided it for me. Seeing your face when Matthew announced he was going to be married. And I decided…I would feel that way for the rest of my life if I let him go.” Sybil said.

Mary felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“I’m a realist, darling.” Mary said, her back arching.

“And it breaks my heart seeing you.” Sybil said. “I can’t be that woman, Mary.”

Mary’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry to be such a disappointment.” She paused. “But at least I’m going to be the one to survive.” Her voice got sharper. “What do you expect, hmm? That he’ll whisk you off into the sunset and it’ll be all roses and sunshine? Because you do know what it’ll be, don’t you? It’ll be some damp flat in Ireland miles away from all your friends and family wondering where your next meal will come from and regretting the moment you allowed yourself to be taken in by him.”

“Do you really think me such a little girl? Really, Mary. Just because you—”

And she stopped, and the look on Mary’s face was one she would never forget.

“Just because I what?” Her throat became dry as she realised what Sybil was talking about, and she fought against the nausea as she remembered the weight of him pressing down hard on her hips, the smell of his cologne fogging her senses. “I didn’t know you knew.”

“Everyone knows, Mary. Everyone except Papa.” Sybil said, her face hot with shame at the hurt in her eyes. 

Mary tried to steady herself, but she had the sense she had failed. That things between them now would never quite be the same. 

“And it’s precisely because of what happened that I’m warning you. You’ll be ruined, you know.”

“I honestly don’t care.” Sybil said, her voice starting to lag. “I’m tired, Mary. I’m tired of denying my heart what it wants.”

And Mary could see then. Could see that she truly did love him.

“So you’d be happy, would you? With all our family friends and colleagues avoiding you? For people to chatter wickedly about you?”

“Yes.” Sybil said, rubbing her eyes. “Do you think any of that really matters anymore? Besides, I’ve never really much thought about that kind of thing” She stared into the distance. “I wasn’t really made for this world. I’ve realised this now.”

“And you’re made for his?”

She looked at the inky blue of the night outside and smiled sweetly, and Mary knew she was thinking of him . “We’re made for each other. We’ll find a home together somewhere, somehow.”

Mary rolled her eyes.

“But not here?” Mary said, betraying what she knew was one of her biggest fears about this: losing darling Sybil, kind lovely Sybil who used to idolise her so, who was always there to tell her she looked beautiful or offer her a sympathetic smile at dinner.

“No, not here.” Sybil said. “This world isn’t mine any more.”

“You’ll be miserable.”

“No, I won’t.” Sybil said softly, smiling, and then she looked up at Mary. “If only you could see how much he loves me.”

“Well, I can see how much you love him.”

“You can?” Sybil said hopefully.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I still think you’re a fool.”

Sybil looked thoughtfully at her. “Then I feel sorry for you.”

///////////////////////

Anna honestly didn’t know if she was going to find Sybil in her bedroom that morning. She wouldn’t have been that surprised if she would have escaped out of the window during the night. But there she was, wide awake, eyes red and skin blotchy (she obviously hadn’t slept). She didn’t move or even seem to notice Anna. Her whole body had such an unnerving stillness to it that it gave Anna’s skin a chill.

Yet Anna still felt for her. If anyone knew about frustrated love it was the housemaid.

“Lady Sybil, are you planning to get dressed for breakfast?” Anna asked cautiously. Sybil didn’t reply, and Anna started to leave.

“I broke his heart, didn’t I?” She asked hoarsely.

Anna moved towards the bed.

“I’m sure that’s not the case, my Lady.”

“I can’t stop seeing his face as I left.” She turned around and sat up suddenly, sharply. “Has he come back yet?”

Anna looked to the floor. “He arrived about five this morning.”

Sybil leapt up from the bed, but Anna quickly positioned herself in front of her. 

“With all due respect, my Lady, I’m not sure it’d be a good idea.” She said.

Sybil’s face fell. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t look right. I mean, you going to go see him now.”

“Has he said something?”

Anna placed the dress down on Sybil’s bed. “I asked Mr Bates to go see him this morning.”

Sybil could feel her heart wrench and it made her want to scream. “How is he?”

“Tired. But fine.”

“Well I need to see him.”

“I think he might like some time by himself.”

“Oh God” She buried her head in her hands. “He hates me.”

“No, it’s not that.” She said tentatively. “I just think he’s quite tired, milady. Mr Bates said he just wanted some time alone.”

She was transforming. Sybil seemed to become more wild by the minute. It was so strange and uncomfortable seeing them like this— all human and all in a mess, like someone lost in a storm, and Anna couldn’t help but think of the pages of Wuthering Heights, and around Sybil she could see a portrait of flames.

“Everything will be fine, my Lady.”

Sybil looked up at her. It was odd. She could offer no opinion on the subject otherwise her whole liveliehood, her whole purpose might be in danger. How incredibly strange, this divide between them, between her and the woman who had helped dress her for so many years, who knew probably better than she did what jewellery suited her, or how best her hair looked. A million miles divided them, and it stretched in front of Sybil, endless.

“Shall I tell your parents you’re still feeling too ill to come to breakfast?” Anna asked.

“Please.” Sybil said, feeling suddenly cold.

//////////////////

Edith rapped lightly on the door.

“I just wanted to see how you were.” She said, linking her hands together, her body stiff and awkward. The two sisters had never been that close. From the start it had been Mary and Sybil. It was never anything specific, it was as if their lives had just passed one another without looking. Edith had never had much time to reflect on it until now, realising just how awkward she felt coming into Sybil’s room to offer comfort.

“Tired.” Sybil said. Edith shut the door gently behind her. If there was one skill you needed to learn to survive in this house it was how to shut a door quietly

“Is there anything I can do?” She said.

“Let me see him.” Sybil murmured softly, as if it was the most simple request in the world, which in many ways it was.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Edith said.

“Why not?”

“…Because you’re obviously still very upset.”

“Of course I am.” Sybil said. She shut her eyes for a moment and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her voice was so tiny, it was becoming dimmer by the second, and it made Edith frightened that she would lose Sybil in a very real and permanent way if she was trapped in the tower forever. “Please, Edith.”

Edith looked to the side, and realised what she had to do. “What can I do?”

/////////////////

She kissed him harder than she knew possible. The solidness of his body which had for the past day felt dreamlike or imagined blossomed underneath her fingertips as she grabbed his shirt. And she knew at that point both of them were crying and she wasn’t sure if they were tears of sadness or of happiness, or both.

Edith had given them an hour, and all they could do was desperately cling on to each other.

“I’m sorry.” She rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, shh.” He whispered, kissing her wet cheeks, tasting the salt on his lips. “Don’t say sorry.”

“I still want to marry you, please know that.” She said, her hand sliding up his cheek.

“I do.” He said, even though that was a lie, and he knew he would never stop being afraid that she would change her mind. “I do.”

“But we’ll do it the right way.” She said. “Because I’m not ashamed. I can’t let them think I’m ashamed, or that I’m anything but proud to have you as mine.”

He kissed her and she felt herself smile at how fast she could feel his heart beating from underneath his shirt, their fingers locked together, pressed up against his chest.

“So,” He whispered, his eyes shut. “What now?”

She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Ireland.” She smiled as his eyes snapped open in surprise.

“Are you sure?”

“Branson, Tom…” She shut her eyes and smiled. “I swear to God if one more person asks me today if I’m sure about something I’m going to scream.”

He laughed.

They started going over the small details, how to engineer it. He’d spend his half-day in Ripon tomorrow buying a suit. He would ask around for a job. He told her of the shady tree-lined street where he had found a flat for them. It had a fireplace and lots of bookcases and wallpaper with small pink flowers. And it would be theirs’ if she wanted. And the very idea of having something of theirs’ through want, desire, longing made her happier than she cold have imagined.

////////////

He slid a note under her door when she knew she’d be getting ready for dinner.

“I need to speak to you. T”

She made a quick disappearance after dinner, feeling safe under the cover of darkness. The bright light of the garage stung her eyes before she focussed on him. He was bent over, scribbling neatly on a piece of paper as he flicked through a broadsheet.

“Good evening.” She smiled, leaning against the door, but still feeling somewhat shy around him. He looked up and smiled at her.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, but before she even answered he’d wrapped his jacket around her, and her heart jumped at the scent of him that lingered on it, and the very dangerous thought that that the smell of him would stay on her skin for that night. And then her mind rushed forward to the very real and very exhilirating threat of exposure. 

He grinned. “Sorry, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

She smiled and wrapped it around herself, even though it swam on her. 

“What did you need to talk about?”

He moved forward and lowered his voice. “Shut your eyes.”

She giggled. “OK.” He moved closer, his footsteps making light thuds on the concrete floor. And she could feel her heart in her throat and she felt thirteen again where Billy Graves kissed her for a dare. But she felt drunk on these past few days and the memory of his lips on hers’ had always been there.

Instead she was greeted by a newspaper in her face and the words THE FREEMAN’S JOURNAL in front of her eyes.

She blinked, startled.

“What is it?” She asked, trying to hide the confusion in her voice.

“That…” He started, moving around behind her, placing his cheek against hers’. “Is the paper I am going to write for.”

She stuttered. “What?”

He pointed to a small article in the corner entitled ‘The View from Across the Sea: Politics from an Irishman in self-imposed exile’.

“I’ve been writing these for a while now.” He murmured into her ear. “They want me to come on full-time.”

“As a journalist?” She breathed out, her eyes still fixed on his name in print.

“No, as a cleaner.” He turned her around to face her. “Of course as a writer.”

“Really?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do more than fix engines, you know.”

Her face seemed to break open into the happiest expression he’d ever seen. “Why didn’t you tell me about these columns?”

“In case it didn’t come to anything.” He said, his hands on her shoulders.

She squealed and wrapped her arms round him, realising that they had never really held each other properly, but shocked at how naturally her face found a place against the warmth of his chest and his chin rested atop her head. Every moment, every new gesture was a clarification and a vindication of how right this was. And in the paper that she had carelessly dropped on the floor his name burnt bright and constant.


End file.
